“Define, if you can, that oddity.”
“They say that in spite of his family’s wealth, he had no interest in managing the estate. He was trained as a physician, but chose not to practice. He spent many hours alone, engaged in strange pastimes. He had eccentric friends and visitors, many of them from the Continent, who with Richard dabbled in what the servants at Dunwell Hall judged to be black arts.”
“I gather you do not agree with their assessment?”
“No. It is his brother, Brandon, who believes in portents, demons, and magical effects. Richard was a skeptic. But at the same time he was rash and impractical, and except for his odd friends he seemed to prefer animals to people.”
“And yet he wooed and won your daughter.”
Milly smiled sadly. “Say, rather, that she wooed him. I remember, they met at the Bodmin Goose Fair, and that night Kathleen would talk of nothing else. She said she had looked into Richard’s eyes, and seen his soul. His arrest and then his death, only three months later, broke her heart.”
“A true tragedy. For everyone.” Darwin spoke softly, and placed his hand on Milly Meredith’s arm. “One more question, if you will permit it, and then I will cease. I can see that this memory distresses you.”
“I will not deny it. But you came here to help me, and I must do my part. Ask on.”
“Richard Dunwell killed a man, Walter Fowler. It seems out of character with what you have said of him.”
“Certain events would drive him to anger, almost to madness. The man had apparently been beating a lame dog. It was later discovered dying, and its master, Walter Fowler, dead.”
“But surely, if Dunwell had explained the sequence of events…”
“He attempted concealment. Fowler’s body had been dragged away and hidden in the gorse bushes. Richard’s monogrammed knife, marked with blood, was buried close by.” Milly swallowed. “A servant found Richard’s clothes, also stained with blood, in his rooms at the hall. Erasmus, if you please—”
“I understand. You have been more than helpful, and we will talk of this no more.” Darwin sank onto the bed, his fat face thoughtful and his eyes suddenly far away. “You have given me enough to think about. More than enough. With your leave, I will turn this over in my mind. And then we will see what tomorrow may bring. I would appreciate one other thing before you retire: a general map of Dunwell Hall.”
“The interior?”
“That, if you are able to provide it. But most important, I need the location of the kennels.”
The next morning was brisk, with a damp and gusting west wind. When dawn broke, Darwin was already fully dressed and standing at the window. Behind him Jacob Pole was sitting up in bed, coughing and spitting.
“Damn it, Erasmus, to wake a man in the middle of the night, when his blood’s as thin as water and his guts are—”
“There is hot tea on the dresser. I permitted you to sleep as long as possible.”
“Aye. And woke me when I was in the middle of the best dream I’ve had in a twelvemonth, me in my uniform and Middletown aflame—”
“I need your help, Jacob. Urgently. I have a pony and trap ready, and in five minutes I must be on my way.”
Pole was out of bed at once, nightshirt flapping around his thin legs. “Where the devil are my clothes? Are you after the phantom? Do you want me to come with you?”
“Not on my first trip, which will be a short one. But when I return, half an hour from now, I would greatly value your presence.”
“I’ll be ready. So will your breakfast.”
It was closer to an hour when the pony came clip-clopping back to the Anchor Inn. Jacob Pole, standing outside with his overcoat on and his head muffled by a scarf, stared at what was sitting next to Darwin.
“Christ. Is that what’s-its-name?”
“Harvey.”
“You stole Dunwell’s dog!”
“Borrowed him. Come aboard, Jacob.”
“Hold on a second. The food hamper. It’s keeping warm.” Pole hurried inside, reappeared in a few seconds, and climbed into the trap next to the dog, which sniffed at the laden wicker basket and wagged its tail. “Get your nose out of that! Erasmus, you’re going to have competition.”
“He’s entitled to a share. If I am right, he has as much a task to perform as we do.”
“Well, he may know what you’re up to, but I don’t. Come on, man. I’m damned if I’ll be more in the dark than a dog.”
“If you would but be quiet for a few moments, Jacob, all will be made clear.” Darwin shook the reins, and the trap started forward. “Listen…”
The ride from Dunwell Cove to St. Austell took less than forty-five minutes. By the end of that time the hamper was nearly empty, the basset hound was gnawing on a meaty ham bone, and Jacob Pole was shaking his head dubiously.
“I don’t know. You’ve added two and two and made twenty.”
“No. I have subtracted two and two, and made zero. There is no other possible explanation that fits all we know and have heard.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“We will think again. At the very least, this experiment can do no harm.”
They were approaching the coach house. It stood even quieter than the previous afternoon.
“There’s nobody here.”
“Patience, Jacob. There will be, very shortly, if Jack Trelawney is to make good on his word and be at Dunwell Cove by eight. You stay in the trap, and call him this way when he appears.” Darwin climbed down holding the dog by its leather collar. He stood so that they were shielded from the road by the trap itself. The only sound was the panting of the basset hound.
“Coming now,” said Pole in a gruff whisper, after another five minutes had passed. And then, at full voice, “Mr. Trelawney! Will you be making the run to Dunwell Cove this morning?”
“Aye, sir. If you can wait ten minutes. You’ll be going?”
Darwin stood motionless, as the sound of booted feet came steadily closer. Finally he released his hold on the dog, and stepped around the trap.
The basset hound was already moving. It raced across to Trelawney and gambolled around him, tail wagging back and forth like a flail. Trelawney, after the first futile effort to push the dog away, allowed it to jump up and push its nose at his face.
“You see, Mr. Trelawney,” Darwin said quietly, “a man can stain his complexion to a darker hue. He can disguise his eyes with false eyebrows and a patch. He can redden and thicken his lips with cochineal, or other coloring matter. He can even change his stance and his voice. But it is as hard for a man to change his smell, as it is to persuade a dog to adopt a new name.”
Trelawney stood perfectly still. The single brown eye beneath its bushy brow stared at Darwin for a moment, then looked away along the road.
“Flee, if you will.” Darwin gestured to Pole. “Neither my companion nor I is in any condition to catch you. But do you wish to spend your whole life running?”
“I may not run. Not so long as Kathleen Meredith plans to marry Brandon Dunwell.” The dark face twisted in anguish. “It is no matter of jealousy, sir, or of simple envy. It is a matter of—I cannot say what.”
“Of your loyalty to Brandon? But you do not need to say it, sir, for I can give you your second opinion statim. I saw it the moment that he made his entrance to the Anchor Inn.”
“You know!”
“The stamping on the ground, as though his feet are padded and cannot feel it beneath them. The loss of balance in the darkness, which forces him to shun unlit rooms and go out only during daylight. The need to grip an object whenever possible, so as to remain steady. These are the clear symptoms of tabes dorsalis. Brandon Dunwell is paying a high price for his wild early years. He is suffering from syphilis, in its advanced state of locomotor ataxia.”